Monument
by And The Adversary Succeeds
Summary: A UNSC fleet and team of ODSTs have been dispatched to the tropical world Spira for unknown reasons. Those reasons soon become clear as the ODSTs learn from a rescued soldier that the Covenant are building something. - Ch. 1 posted - REVISED


_This story has quite obviously been rewritten. It's something I've been meaning to do for a while now, and not just because I don't like what was done with it beforehand. With newer games and altered details I believe it's high time I alter this story accordingly._

1 – It's Need-to-Know, and _You_ Don't

"Am I supposed to be impressed?" Taylor asked, training his blue eyes on the man across the table, momentarily removing them from the data pad resting beneath his hesitating fingers. Horowitz, the target of the query, seemed at a loss.

"Whaddaya mean?" He sat up a little and his face contorted into a frown.

Taylor rolled his eyes, "'That file's not complete.'" He repeated. "Yes, you _did_ say it, Sarge," he said, cutting his commanding officer off. The look he received told him not to push his luck with another remark.

Horowitz sighed and nodded, "All right, fine." He dropped his fork, laden with food, back onto his plate. "It's not complete, but that doesn't mean that _I_ know everything they left out, okay?"

Taylor concealed a victorious smile, and switched the data pad off. "Then you can fill me in on what I need to know," he rested his elbows on the table and formed a little pyramid with his fingers.

"Don't get so damn cocky, Sergeant," Horowitz growled. He went back to his meal, figuring that if Taylor really wanted to "win" that badly, then he'd have to wait until Horowitz was good and ready to talk. Taylor frowned, knowing that if he did anything stupid to upset his CO he'd be as good as fucked. Well, he'd have way more work to do than he usually did, but those were two things in one, really. He decided to take the opportunity to finish his own "lunch."

Another ODST approached, "Hey, Sarge. Ca-"

"Fuck off," Horowitz hissed, stabbing his food suddenly.

The trooper took a cautious step back and stared hard at Taylor, "Sergeant?"

"Yes, Corporal?" Taylor sighed heavily.

"With all due respect, sir. What the fuck did you do?" The Corporal asked, crossing his arms.

"I didn't do-" Taylor shook his head and pointed his command. The Corporal took the hint, and off he fucked. Taylor glared at Horowitz, even though the Staff Sergeant refrained from looking up. Taylor wound up finishing his meal first, as Horowitz was obviously stalling. Their relationship was terse. Friends, brothers-in-ams and fellow NCOs. One was from a wealthy family who decided he wanted to actually do something with his life, and the other who had just wanted to get the hell off his homeworld. Taylor was a marksman, and one of the most lethal snipers Horowitz had ever laid eyes on, while the Sarge himself was of the more traditional hands-on variety. Even their appearances were at odds. Taylor's hair was fiery red, his eyes a sparkling blue and his skin rather pale, whereas Horowitz's hair was a sandy blond, his skin finely tanned and his eyes a cloudy blue, almost a muddled gray. They clashed, at times, but some believed the truest friendships were the ones where you _could_ rag on each other and still come out of it unscathed.

Horowitz finally decided to press on, as Taylor was not going to be moving any time soon, and pushed his plate off to the side. "You can suck it, Sergeant."

Taylor shook his head, "No thank you, sir. Even if that was a direct order." He folded his arms defiantly and awaited Horowitz's explanation.

"The planet's called Spira, which someone told me was Latin for something," Horowitz started.

"Spiral, actually." Taylor commented. He raised a hand and scratched his chin thoughtfully, "I wonder why they chose it."

"I don't know, and we don't care," he said assertively.

Taylor nodded, keeping his expression serious, "You were saying, sir?"

Horowitz nodded, "Spira was never terraformed, when we discovered it it was already of suited just for our needs, and practically overflowing with alien life. Which is apparently an oddity, from what most science-savvies seem to think."

"I'm assuming that none of it was intelligent?" Taylor asked, his eyebrow cocked. "The native lifeforms, I mean."

Horowitz waved his hand, "Nah, just animals. Most were pretty deadly, though. The planet's teeming with predatory beasties that make most of the worst stuff we got on Earth look cute 'n fluffy."

"I'll let that pass," Taylor said.

"Damn right you will," Horowitz growled. "Anyway, the planet's colonist inhabitants are the rich and bored. Most people who settle there go for game hunts to make themselves feel like the big, tough warriors they so secretly wish they are when they curl up in bed at night with the-"

"Sir?" Taylor interrupted, smiling cheekily.

Horowitz rolled his eyes, "You got a problem, Sergeant?"

"I just think you're straying from the point, sir." Taylor said in his own defense. "But, you said they go to hunt the alien animals?"

Horowitz nodded, "Mm-hm. Why?"

Taylor shook his head, "There must be some sort of restrictions. I wouldn't think they'd be permitted to completely exterminate entire species for their own enjoyment."

"No shit! What, you think the science big-wigs are just gonna sit on their butts while a bunch of snobby idiots blow up their exotic monsters?"

"Hm. 'Yes' would have sufficed, sir," Taylor informed. "Do they have a local militia?"

"Most colonies with the manpower do, although it's not like any can do real damage to the Covies if a full-on invasion's goin down," Horowitz leaned back and started fiddling with his fork, rolling it through his fingers and tapping incessantly on the table in intermittent patterns.

"Stop that," Taylor grumbled.

Horowitz gave the Sergeant an amused look, "You don't give me orders, Taylor."

"Unfortunately," the Sergeant sighed.

"Do you want me to keep goin, or should I skedaddle?" Horowitz asked. He suddenly smiled wickedly, "About their little militia . . . Actually, nah. You can see for yourself when we get there."

Taylor frowned, "You've seen something on them?"

Horowitz shook his head, "I'm not sayin. Trust me, you'll wanna wait."

Taylor was suddenly captured by a horrifying thought, "Sir, we aren't going to be . . _babysitting_, are we?" He looked almost disgusted at the idea.

"Oh, hell no!" Horowitz laughed, alleviating the Sergeant's fears.

"Thank God," Taylor sighed. "For a minute there I thought . . I thought that they'd somehow bribed the spooks into giving them some real protection."

"No, I _seriously_ doubt that ONI would very much enjoy some spoiled rich dudes tellin 'em what to do, no matter how tasty the bribe might be," Horowitz said. He leaned back in his chair and combed his fingers through what hair he had on his head.

"Yeah, but you never really know sometimes," Taylor lamented with a sigh. "Of course, that brings me back to my original question."

Horowitz suddenly sat straight up, "Hey, we're both finished, right? I'll be-"

"Sarge?" Taylor drawled, arching an eyebrow as he stared suspiciously at his OC.

"I need to go check on-"

"Horowitz." Taylor's statement drew a sigh from his target.

"All I can say is that we got us a potential Covie threat to the planet, all right?" Horowitz said, hoping to slake the Sergeant's thirst.

Taylor nodded, "Ah. A preemptive warning, then?" Before Horowitz could speak the Sergeant started laughing.

Horowitz's eyes narrowed threateningly, "What is so damned funny, trooper?"

Taylor sucked in a deep breath, "You. Your story." He listed, and the Sarge's gaze turned questioning. "It gets more twisted every time, Horowitz! Face it, Sarge, you can't lie worth shit."

Horowitz sputtered, "I- It- W-What? Twisted? What in _the_ hell do you mean?"

Taylor sighed, "First you said we were going to establish an outpost on Spira. I'll admit, it wouldn't be that hard to believe, it _is_ right there on the rim. The second time I asked, you said that we were being dispatched to eliminate a volatile Insurrectionist cell, which was questionable because that's usually AFO work. Then you told me there was a Covenant strike force gathering nearby, which was fairly unbelievable. And now _this_. There, see? Twisted."

Horowitz's mouth twisted into a grimace, "Sit and spin, Taylor." He picked up his tray and made his way through the galley.

Taylor leaned back, smiling a little vainly, "I'll just ask again, sir!" He called out. Horowitz did not turn, but he _did_ give Taylor the finger.

XXX

The _Farplane_: UNSC _Marathon_-class heavy cruiser, and as heavily armed as she was enormous. Sporting dual Magnetic Accelerator Cannons, Oversized Archer missile pods (sixty missiles, each), fifty mm point-defense guns and five fusion rockets, she was a perfect addition to humanity's deadliest line of warships in history. In addition, it seemed that all that extra armor and weaponry helped to keep the crew's morale up, even with the possibility of an engagement with Covenant forces. It did make sense, when one considered it. The vast firepower would make it all the easier to send a Covenant warship straight to the bad place. But, all-in-all, she was a fine vessel, and Auron was proud to command her.

The _Farplane_ was the acting flagship of UNSC Battle Group Monument. Other than the _Farplane_ herself, the battle group consisted of two carriers, ten destroyers, thirty frigates, a refit station and a prowler. The situation on Spira had been deemed important enough to earn a sizable amount of ships to remedy the Covenant presence there and restore order.

The Admiral stood before the Captain's Chair atop a raised, circular platform. As tall as he already was, this only made him even more so. It gave him an almost godlike stature in the eyes of the crew busying themselves around the bridge. His eyes were trained on the viewport even though the black, diamond-studded depths of space were gone; replaced by the emptiness of slipspace travel. It was hard to decide which was more calming: space, with its myriad of awe-inspiring imagery, or slipspace and its utter lack of anything. Anything that _they_ could see, at least.

"Admiral!"

A voice behind him drew his attention, and Auron turned his head a fraction to see Staff Sergeant Horowitz quickly salute. He redirected his attention and asked, "Well, what's the damage? Are any of the crew suspicious?"

Horowitz sauntered forward, ignoring the odd looks he was receiving from personnel, and stopped once he'd come even with the Admiral. He gritted his teeth as his eyes hovered over the remnants of a scar on the Admiral's face. It had taken out his right eye, but luckily for Auron he had received swift medical attention, and a replacement eye had been cloned. Horowitz had yet to discover what had given him the nearly-lethal wound. He quickly turned to the viewport and grinned, "Not at all, sir. They're sittin 'round, doin each others' hair and the like. Real slumber party, if y'know what I mean," he nodded. "They're as babes in a basket." Auron cocked an eyebrow at the trooper, who tilted his head to the side, "No offense, sir, but of course they're suspicious. Hell, Taylor won't quit askin me what we're doin! He must be slippin me some drugs or sumthin, 'cause my memory's fuzzy each time he asks!"

"Meaning?" The grizzled Admiral inquired.

Horowitz sighed, "That every single time he asks me my damn story changes!" He shivered. "Scare me sumthin fierce! Makes me think I'm gettin old. Hell, Admiral, I ain't even thirty, yet!" Auron's gaze deepened. "Yet," Horowitz reiterated, his eyes going to nowhere in particular.

The Admiral rolled his eyes. He respected Horowitz as much as he did any good soldier who did as they were told and actually got things done. He had a rather impressive record from his time spent against Covenant forces. Some of his past COs considered him an outstanding soldier destined to become a high ranking officer some day, and Auron saw the same potential. But the man could say the strangest things, sometimes.

Perhaps it was his agrarian nativity, the Admiral wondered.

"Sir, we're sending an obscenely large amount of ships out to the middle of practically nowhere," Horowitz hissed from clenched teeth. "All we've got is ONI's word and HIGHCOM's order. Marines, ODSTs, don't no one know nuthin! Do you know how hard it is to keep reminding them that we can't tell 'em nuthin? Mighty suspicious ain't even good enough to describe _this_ amount of confusion, sir."

"Too bad," Auron said with an exasperated sigh.

"Yeah, you're tellin me. At least you're lucky enough to not hafta deal with 'em, eh?" He chuckled, shaking his head as he looked about the bridge. He caught some of the crew throwing questioning glances his way, but ignored them entirely. He didn't give a rat's ass about whatever it was they were finding fault with. To change the subject, Horowitz asked, "Sir, how much longer 'til we hit Spira?"

"We have approximately fifty-three hours and twenty-seven minutes, by my current calculations," a resonating voice informed. Horowitz's attention was drawn to the glowing hologram that appeared hovering over a shimmering platform. The ship's resident smart AI, named Yevon, had appeared, taking up its preferred visage. Horowitz had never liked the way it looked. It was like a cross between a spider and a tick, with some warped symbol, like an eye, shining from the center of its dark body. It thoroughly unnerved the Staff Sergeant, to say the least.

"Huh?" Horowitz asked, shaking off the unease the AI's chosen form gave him.

"Two days, five hours and twenty-seven minutes, simplified. Although I see no reason to make it simpler," Yevon remarked.

Horowitz glared at the projection, "Up yours, program!"

Auron groaned and turned his eyes from the impending verbal scuffle.

"Ah, but therein lies the problem, Staff Sergeant," Yevon said. "I am a program, I have no 'yours,' as you may realize."

"Ya wanna bet?" Horowitz asked loudly.

"Enough!" Auron cut in, giving both the AI's projection and Horowitz stern warning glances.

"My apologies, Admiral." Yevon said before his avatar disappeared.

"Little kiss-ass," Horowitz grumbled. "Might I offer my condolences, Admiral?" Horowitz asked, turning to Auron questioningly. The Admiral's glare made him look elsewhere once more. "Apologies, sir."

"Mm," Auron groaned.

"Anymore information on what we're doing, sir?" Horowitz asked, turning once more to the Admiral as he addressed the man. He lowered his voice and added in a more hushed tone, "I've only gotten the vaguest on the truth. Seems while ONI's report explained _some _things it still felt like they were leavin out a mighty big chunk of the truth."

"Hm. What do you know, so far?" Auron asked.

"Well, I'm privy to the fact that the Covies are holdin Spira. That confuses the hell outta me, though, sir. 'Specially seein as how they normally just glass everything in their path that ain't of some kinda worth to 'em. So, way I see it, either they've found sumthin or they're doin sumthin there because it's inside UNSC territory. Of course that doesn't really make a whole mess of sense when you really think about it, sir. The report mentioned sumthin else, but they took such a goodly time inkin over every damned detail that I couldn't even make it out given what they _did_ let me read. Any chance _you'd_ care to elaborate, sir?"

Auron considered it for a moment, and then sternly answered, "Later."

"Right, I'm gonna hold ya to that, ya hear?" Horowitz asked, pointing in a mockingly threatening manner at the Admiral. He quickly linked his hands behind his back and looked to the viewport.

"No need," Auron surprised Horowitz by saying. "Once we hit Spira I've been notified that we will receive all pertinent information regarding the planet's current situation." He turned to look directly at the ODST. He was a good two to three inches taller than Horowitz, and appeared far more imposing than the twenty-nine year old trooper. "No more secrets."

Horowitz nodded, a small smile curving his lips, "Yeah, but technically the spooks still get to decide what's 'pertinent' and what ain't. Still, no more secrets?" He shook his head, "For ONI that's definitely a first, sir."

"Damn straight," the Admiral growled.

Horowitz faced forward again, "Hey, bolts 'n volts!" He called out. Auron frowned, but waited to see what the Sarge would do.

Yevon appeared once again in his holographic form, "I believe you called, Staff Sergeant?"

"Yeah," Horowitz slowly smiled. Auron could almost see the wheels in his head turning, and could only begin to wonder just what he was planning. "There's something you might be able to help me with."

"Oh?" The AI pretended to sound interested. "Might you be wondering how your standard issue weapon works? I do realize that for you it seems nothing more than a magical apparatus that discharges slugs of depleted uranium at lethal velocities with the proper stimulation."

Auron removed his sunglasses and rubbed his face wearily.

"Come again?" Horowitz bristled.

"I must apologize. Perhaps you require me to simplify what I have said?" Yevon queried.

"Yevon." Auron growled.

"I am deeply sorry, Admiral. I will take my leave, once again." The hologram shivered before blinking out of existence.

"Yeah, just run back to your ones 'n zeroes!" Horowitz yelled, looking up at the ceiling as if that was where the AI would be situating itself.

"Staff Sergeant Horowitz!" Auron barked.

The ODST quickly snapped to attention, "Sir?"

"Shut up and busy yourself elsewhere, for now." Auron ordered, eyes boring into the side of Horowitz's skull.

"Yes, sir!" Horowitz about-faced and marched off the bridge in a manner that Auron found to be more than just "slightly" sarcastic. The Admiral also pretended he had not seen the offensive gesture that had been aimed at a nearby terminal.

XXX

Horowitz tended to roam ships he'd been stationed in. The _Farplane_ was only one in a plethora of destroyers and cruisers he'd had the pleasure of serving on during his time as an ODST. However, the _Farplane_ was by far the most impressive of these vessels. It was a veritable leviathan – ironic, as that had actually been the name of another _Marathon_-class heavy cruiser. It had been lost at Reach, last he'd heard. Then again what had _not_ been lost during the Fall? Obviously the home fleet was going strong, but there was no telling just what the Covenant would throw at Earth should they find it.

That worried him, though. The battle group was generous, to say the least. Ships like the _Farplane_ were desperately needed where the Covenant were hitting hardest. If HIGHCOM wanted this much firepower out on the rim _this _fast then there _had_ to be something big going down. And anything "big" usually spelled disaster for whatever poor bastards they'd hand-picked to go die in a blaze of glory.

He'd just turned a corner when someone called out his name. He turned around and quickly stepped to the side to avoid being tackled by a blond blur. The girl halted and turned about, "Damn, Gray!" The girl huffed, "You're faster than I thought you were!" Rikku, one of the ships most brilliant mechanics, smiled wide, her green eyes lighting up. "Grey" was a personal nickname she'd thought up for him. She'd gotten it from the color of his eyes.

"I'm an ODST, darlin," Horowitz pointed at his shirt. He looked off to the side thoughtfully, "'Course, you wanna see speed then you find a Spartan."

Rikku's eyes widened, "Wait, does that mean you've-"

"Seen some before? Yeah, actually." He nodded. "Before Reach, though. Not too many left now, if any."

"Well, there's the Chief," Rikku said. "Hey! What about-"

"Nope," Horowitz seemed generally disappointed. "Never had the pleasure of seein the Chief himself in action. I'd be honored to fight beside him, though. If I could keep up." He grinned.

Rikku slyly cocked an eyebrow, "What ever happened to you being fast?"

"I'm not a Spartan, girl! Damned giants are blurs on the battlefield. 'Course, I gotta be some kinda quick. If I'm not fast, I'm dead."

"No," Rikku shook her head and crossed her arms, "If your drop pod doesn't work, _then _you're dead!" She winked and flashed him a smile.

"Don't even play, now!" Horowitz laughed. "I got plenty to worry 'bout other than that coffin not getting me into hell all nice 'n safe."

"All right, fine," Rikku waved her hand.

Horowitz studied Rikku silently for a moment, "Hey . . is it just me or are you even more hyper than usual?"

Rikku shook her head, "S'not just you! My pops is on Spira. I'm kinda hoping I'll get to see him. He's a retired ODST, you know."

"Really?" Horowitz asked. "I'll have to meet the man, then." His smiled faded. "And tell him what a damn nuisance you are." Rikku started to pout, but saw the evil glint in the Sarge's eye. She let out a low growl and punched him in the arm. Horowitz mock winced and staggered back. "Damn, girl! Why aren't you in the service?"

Rikku smiled, "Pfft! Yeah, right. I wouldn't last a minute out there."

"Oh, I dunno. You might give 'em Grunts hell," he said, crossing his arms.

Rikku shook her head, casting off the compliments as just good-natured humor. "Well, I'm gonna get something to eat before I get back to work. You wanna join me?"

Horowitz shook his head, "Sorry, already ate. And right now I'm huntin down the other idiots who share my rank, you seen any of 'em?"

Rikku thumbed back over her shoulder, "I think I saw Eleven chewing out some 'grunts' somewhere back there."

Horowitz smiled, picturing the six-foot eight Staff Sergeant Cian Fasth, otherwise known as "Eleven," in his trademark black patrol cap, strawberry flavored cigar between his teeth and yelling at whoever had been unfortunate enough to do something wrong close enough for him to notice. "Thanks, I'll see if he's still busy." He took off down the hall, just catching Rikku's yelled farewell.

XXX

"So, what? We just keep them 'warm and cozy' 'til we get to Spira?" Eleven asked. His raven hair was hidden beneath his equally jet black patrol cap, which he wore in almost every non-combat or informal scenario. His eyes were a soft, almost icy blue, and he passed them over the four other officers gathered. All of them Staff Sergeants. Horowitz, Cian, Damien Prescott, Marshall Wargrave and Lucas Reyes. They'd gathered in the drop bay under the pretense of checking the gear after Horowitz had spent a decent amount of time hunting each one of them down.

"Watch it, Eleven," Horowitz growled, his gaze leveling on the ODST. "And yeah, pretty much."

"It's only two days, right? How hard could it possibly be?" Wargrave asked, his tone and expression equally dubious.

Prescott smiled, "You must be knew here." He even went so far as to offer his hand for Wargrave to shake. Wargrave frowned at the jest and stuffed his hands in his pockets. Prescott scoffed, "Tourists." Prescott was black, twenty-six years old and already favored by certain factions of ONI for high profile work in Covenant engagements earlier in his career.

"Stow it," Horowitz ordered. He had seniority, which usually earned him lead in ops. Prescott held his hands up in a silent surrender and seated himself on a nearby bench. "But he's right, Wargrave," he said, tone lightening. "People're already overly suspicious, and they _are_ gonna want some answers sooner or later."

"I know, but all we have to do is tell them to drop it or suffer the consequences," Wargrave said.

"Yeah," Reyes laughed, "Talk back to your CO and get nice kick in the ass?"

"Exactly," Eleven called back over his shoulder. He'd actually started looking over racks of battle rifles.

"You know we don't _actually_ have to do that, right? At least not yet," Reyes said, looking worriedly at Eleven.

"I'm satisfying my own curiosity. Better safe than sorry," he began inspecting a single rifle, taking it apart piece-by-piece.

"He certainly is thorough," Wargrave noted, shaking his head as he lit up a Sweet Williams cigar.

"You smoke that trash near me," Eleven peered back over his shoulder, "And I won't be responsible for my actions, all right?"

"Trash?" Wargrave looked around incredulously. "How can you say that Sweet Williams is anything even remotely li-"

"'Cause it's got no real character to it," Eleven explained. "It's bland; tasteless. Dull, boring, take your motherfucking pick." He took out a wrapped cigar and held it aloft for all to see. "Now _this_ is a cigar, gentlemen."

Prescott made a face, "You mean that nasty, strawberry smelling shit?"

Eleven's face fell into a cross between insult and outrage.

"Now, now, ladies, let's just stop all the fussin and bickerin 'fore it turns to hollerin, all right?" Horowitz cut in quickly, hoping to avoid something stupid. He didn't think the other Staff Sergeants were immature, or dumb, but they were all strange in their own ways. Of course he figured that he himself was something of a paradigm of normalcy, in his own right. "Eleven's just bored 'cause he ain't out bitchin at the youngins. Ain't that right, Eleven?" He asked, smiling as he crossed his arms. Eleven rolled his eyes, taking the hint, and went silently back to work. "Well, I think that just about sums it up, right?" Horowitz clapped his hands together and looked around the room. No one replied, and, taking the quiet as an answer, he left.

I҉̸ ą͟m̵̕ ҉͝a̵̧͝ m͏o̵͟n͏u̸m̸̧̀ę͜n҉̶͏t͝͏ ̢t̸o͟͡ ̡͝al̕͜l̶̨ y͠o҉u̢r͡ s̨̛͞i̕͝͝nś̵


End file.
